Mistakes, Madness and More
by Yet Another Moron
Summary: He was thoroughly underwhelmed on how god was. Most gods perform acts of power that showcase their strength. Parting the sea, calling down fire and fury, or just other godly acts in general would be a good example. Instead, all this god did was break his property, terrorize him, and was now trying to shift blame back onto him. He doesn't know why he agreed to this.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 -Fellas, I think I dropkicked God

* * *

**_Hello! This is a start of a new fic thats been bouncing around the old noggin for some time now. As is the case, please review and follow! Constructive criticism is always welcomed, so feel free to share your opinion!_**

**_As is tradition, I don't own the characters or One piece. I just play in the sandbox that they're in._**

* * *

Some people would describe Alex as enigmatic.

Those who do so have clearly never spoken to him.

He does his work and promptly hands in assignments on time, greets everyone with a silent nod, and is quick to retire to his dorm when unneeded. He seldom leaves his room for more than classes and food, and when he does, he always finishes his business quickly.

During group tasks, even when he's forced to socialize, with all that he says, most believe he has the personality of a piece of plain white bread.

He's not exactly rude, but with his resting bitch face, few try to approach the enigma that is Alexander Finch.

Which is always a good thing in his book.

But on the rare occasion where someone would talk to him for an extended period, they would find him to have a wicked sense of humor with a pendant for depreciative jokes. It's not that he's prefers to be alone, but he isn't really motivated to make friends, or even passing acquaintances.

Or so he tells himself. It's a lot easier than admitting that he's antisocial.

He's_ not_.

He's just…. content with being alone.

That's why he still doesn't understand why he's still friends with her.

"You absolute _nimrod_! How? How are you doing this?!"

He doesn't _think _he's a masochist.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"This doesn't make any sense! You shouldn't be able to do this, you… _you _imbecile-!"

Keyword being _think_. He should really start evaluating himself more. He has a many great deal of things to say to her (none of which are very polite,) so he doesn't understand why he's taking this.

"No, I mean it! Your grades are middling, you have no sense of social cues, and compared to me, you're an idiot! I have the best grades, I do all the extra credit and all the extra curriculum, and I'm one of the top students here!"

"Thanks. Go to hell."

"No, I don't mean it in a bad way! Compared to anyone, I'm smarter! That's just a fact!"

"…Are you asking me to hit you? Is this a subconscious need for pain? I refuse to believe anyone can be this tactless."

"No, what I'm trying to say is that I shouldn't be losing! I'm clearly better at anything academic than you, but how do you keep winning? You didn't even know how to play until two days ago!"

"Just one of my many traits."

She turns to him in disbelief.

"Alright, one of my vanishingly few traits."

"…"

"Okay, a single trait of mine."

"…"

"Fine, a trait that stems from just having a good poker face."

She slams her fists on the table.

"This is **chess**. There's no such _thing_ as a POKER FACE _in _CHESS !"

"Maybe you're just bad at it?"

"Again, I can't be! Chess is widely known as a game of tactics, intellectual skill, and a strong mentality! I admit, your grades are above average, and you have some tact, but I still shouldn't be losing SEVEN TIMES IN A ROW!"

A small, sadistic side to him wonders what would happen if he tells her he still doesn't really understand how to play. He just moves his pieces in a way that makes her the angriest. Lost in sardonic thought, he is shaken to attention.

"I give up."

/-/

"I give up," Molly grits out.

And just like that, she watches his shoulders sag as he lets the remnants of his mask fall, letting out a weary sigh.

It never ceases to amaze her. A moment ago, his entire posture was rigid and unyielding, his eyes narrowed and unreadable, all emotion extinguished. His mechanical calmness gave her the illusion that no matter what she did, no matter how hard she fought, and no matter how much she struggled, she would still be dancing in the palm of his hand.

He calls it his thinking face.

Others… don't. They call him a psychopath.

She watches him uncurling from the chair. He's tall, but not tall enough to warrant the use of 'uncurling' so maybe calling it that wouldn't be right; but with the slow, languid way he arches his back and stretches out his tense shoulders, it's hard to describe it as anything else.

Then he falls out of his chair, and all illusions of him being this…_ mysterious stranger_ are gone. When he straightens, his knee hits the edge of the table (and rightly so, since he's six foot-too goddamn tall), and he falls right back onto his ass, hissing in pain.

Strangers believe Alex is an enigma.

Anyone the slightest bit familiar with him knows he's a complete and utter disaster.

/-/

Alex watches Molly leave, shaking her fist in fake anger, a hundred quid lighter. He smiles and flips her off in response, watching her laugh as he closes the door.

He makes his way back to the living room, swiping a cup of coffee from the kitchenette. It's not labeled, so it's fair game. Humming a jaunty tune, he makes his way to his room.

Flicking on the lights, he flops down onto the bed. Toeing the power button on his computer, Alex groans, turning himself to stare at the ceiling. Nothing about his life feels right. He briefly wonders if this is what a middle-age crisis feels like, then remembers that he isn't even twenty yet.

Still, for some strange reason, once reflecting upon himself, he feels his mood start to twist and blacken. He pulls up the scraps of elation from the game, surprising himself on how quickly his mood resets. It was the little moments like these that kept him in check. He could care less about the small stuff.

He hears the computer hum to life, and with that, the dark room is briefly illuminated. He turns to check his phone.

**_"Here's a straw."_**

He finds one hovering in front of him.

"What for? Wait… what the hell-"

**_"Because life sucks."_**

He whipped his head toward the voice.

He stared at the computer screen.

The screen stared back.

Alex likes to entertain the thought that as socially inept as he is, he still has a firm grasp on reality. He does not think what he is seeing is real. He is also a firm believer that when a computer has eyes growing out of the screen, as whimsical and fantasy-like as it is, some shock would be mandatory.

"_EEK!"_

He only thinks this to reassure himself that the pitiful squeal that made its way out of his mouth was a rational response to this.

Silence bled into the room.

**_"Seriously?"_**

And of course, as if the glowing eyes weren't weird enough, the screen started growing other appendages as well. White digits grasped at the edge of the computer, and a figure started pulling itself out.

**_" 'Eeks' are for small rodents crawling through your garbage, not for omnipotent beings that have their eyes poking out of your computer. C'mon, I'm worth a 'OMMAHGAWD' or 'SWEETJESUS' at least, right?"_**

"Oh _hell NO!"_

Straight out of a horror flick and into reality. He's seen enough films to know what's going to happen. Guy watches creepy ghost girl climb out of television, girl repays kindness by eating his face. So instead of standing there like some clueless idiot, Alex marches towards the cupboard and pulled out a broom.

Time to clean up the trash.

"BACK FROM WHENCE YOU CAME FROM DEMON."

"**_GEROFFME-"_**

/-/

His roommate returned drunk, finding Alex screaming and kicking into his computer.

The next few minutes was spent watching a bizarre battle between the boy and his computer, a battle which had no connotations, and seemed to run around the concepts of logic and fantasy, in which the boy was somehow losing against an inanimate object.

His roommate decided he hadn't had enough to drink, and decided to increase in his endeavours of slowly killing his liver.

/-/

"Thats my computer."

They stood over the smoking remains of said apparatus. Judging from the cracks, sparks and hole in the middle that led to another dimension, Alex was pretty sure he couldn't take it to the store.

**_"That was your computer"_**

"I had spent three summers saving up for that."

"**_Well, in my defence, you weren't exactly making it easy for me to talk to you-"_**

"You could have _knocked_. On the door. Like _normal._"

She (It?) waved off the question, pretending to act miffed.

"**_Yeah, but no one important uses the door anymore, and as you should know, they're meant for people with no imagination-"_**

He tuned her out. Needless to say, he was thoroughly underwhelmed on how god was. Maybe it was because most religions depicted him as an all-mighty being, and the only way to communicate with them were at the peaks of mountains, or some other hard to reach place where people could readily test that theory. Most gods perform acts of power, like gifting power to humans, parting the sea, or just other godly acts in general.

All he got was a whiny jackass who didn't know how to use a door.

The lack of 'thy's and 'thou's could have played a part.

"I don't care! The sign clearly says '**NO GODS ALLOWED. WE ARE ATHEISTS**.' Like, it's _right_ _there._"

Also, it didn't really help that all this god did was break his computer, terrorize him, and was now trying to shift blame back onto him.

"**_I'm not god."_**

Of course. '_Not god_' could read minds as well. _Definitely_ not god. Instead of replying, he flung himself onto his bed, turning to face the wall.

_If he couldn't see the hallucination-_

"**_HEY !"_**

_-then it couldn't see him._

That was the general rule of acid trips, right ?

"**_I am NOT an acid trip, thank you very much !" _**It snapped, turning into a fluorescent shade of white.

_White ? How the hell-_

Inwardly, he cursed his feeble survival instincts, losing over his curiosity. He turned towards the acid trip for the first time, taking a good look at the source of his current problem.

"…"

His poor, _poor _retinas.

Wrong. It was a mistake. Something gnawed at him, the wrongness of… _everything_. The feeling devolved deeper into his mind- his _soul, _screaming at him on how this was an abomination of his reality. Whatever it was, it didn't belong here.

He took out a paper bag.

The figure was white. That was it. It wasn't a pure enlightening white, nor was it a blinding one. It was white from the lack of, … anything. It seemed like its white was from nothing, moulded into reality.

He started breathing into the bag.

If the figure was white, then its cane was certainly black.

If the figure was the void of any stains, its cane was the void of purity. The lack of light contrasted starkly with its owners lack of darkness, turning everything else irrelevant. It was a gaping void, or to be blunt, a hole.

And with it, the absolute emptiness of everything came crashing in. The hole had its ethereal chains wrapped around him, pulling him in-

The room was quiet for quite a long time after what was a reasonable amount of laboured breathing.

A presence takes its place before him.

"**_You alright there ?"_**

It was not alright.

The paper bag was not enough. He passed out.

* * *

**_It's a small start, but I like it. This has been edited by a friend of mine, who's fanfiction name is _**_**FireLark. Check out her stories! She told me not read them, and I won't, but that doesn't mean I can't ask others to do it for me! **_

**_As always, review and follow!_**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2- Immortals don't get a happy ending

* * *

Ironically, it's the absence of screaming that stirred Alex from his sleep.

In his dorm, one would usually be awaked by the flurry of feet, the small morning chatter as students started their day. That's not so bad by itself, but the chatter, coupled with cars honking through, along with his alarm, and _well…_

He can still tolerate that. That's fine.

Hell, he's even made peace with his neighbours, even with their irritatingly loud morning routine. If by 'made peace' meant to fantasize about acquainting their face to the floor. Repeatedly.

He's used to noise. He's not used to calm.

That's why the absence of it is magnified, the silence deafening in- _in_...well, wherever he was.

He sat up, groaning and shaking his head. Brushing the crust from his eyes, he tried to piece together what the _hell_ just happened. His memories came, slowly, and in fragmented pieces, painting a picture of the events of last night.

_The acid trip._

He froze as his clearest memory was the small middle age crisis. (He has to remind himself that he's not middle aged, and still far from it.) Instead, the hazy memories that consists of him screaming into a computer disturbs him a little. But now that his thoughts were in order-

-Motor functions,

-Will to live,

-Middle age crisis averted, _and damnit, will he stop thinking about that?!_

The nagging feeling at the back of his head finally hit him. It was never quiet on the dorm floor. Never. At any given time, there would be small chatter within the hallways, or the sound of electronics quietly humming in the foreground.

The scent of tea wafts through the air, and that was when he decided to actually open his eyes.

"…"

He regretted doing so.

Because now he faced the fact that either he was blind, or in limbo.

All he saw was black.

A never ending abyss of darkness- no, wait, never mind. What he was looking at was nothing.

He pushed his glasses up,(conveniently ignoring the fact that he_ knew _he didn't put on his glasses) and stood up. He saw everything, but everything around him seemed to consist of nothing. He raised his hand to his face, and can see it clearly, but he can't see anything else. He strained his ears, but heard nothing, par his own breathing, and his heartbeat racing sporadically through his ears.

_Hmm._

He paused for a moment, trying not to hyperventilate.

Then he started to walk. Walking was better than doing nothing. Striding in no particular direction, he heard and felt his feet hitting the floor, and yet it still somehow felt as though he's walking on air. Cautiously, he reached down to touch the floor, and falls backwards.

His hand passed though.

Nothing was below him, yet something was supporting him.

Musing, "Is this limbo?"

"_Close enough."_

"GAH!"

He whipped around, and from out of nowhere, the figure appears. Momentarily blinding him, once he blinked away the spots, he saw it was hunched over a table, fiddling with something.

_What._

Wisps of coloured light float off her back, flooding into the surrounding. He gasped as colour seeps into the world, filling the world with light, stretching off into eternity.

And there the figure stood. Regal, kingly, and all other words that meant, and _was _synonymous with power. The figure literally lit up the world.

"_Onto business. But first, would you like some tea ?"_

The figure finally turns around, holding a kettle.

Adjusted to the light, Alex took note of the figure. It voice was velvety, ancient, smooth, and full of power. It waved a hand, a teacup popping into existence.

He was hesitant to answer a god.

He nodded slowly, as he tried to think of a better response. Too many questions ran through his head, as the situation continued to deteriorate. What small amount of sanity he had left began to call in a meeting to vote on a mass emigration to Tahiti.

'_Now then, Earl grey or Green?"_

"…"

Then again, tea would be nice.

* * *

"Are those lemons supposed to be light-lavender ?"

"_**Yes, for alliterative purposes."**_

After the brief respite, his surrounding shifted again, turning into a hallway woven from space, its blackness broken by the patches of stars and galaxies flying through, littered with archways made of the whitest material. He followed her through, glimpsing into the doorways. Each one seemed to lead into a different reality.

While one would have bookshelves that stretched towards the bright blue sky, another would lead into a dark room, a lone marble pedestal holding nothing but a golden apple, shining brightly.

One had nothing.

Another overlooked a sea of magma, spurts of it bursting in the air as bubbles popped. He stayed for a while, observing some sort of animal that looked like a goat, cautiously dipping its head in.

Each archway seemed to hold something unique and strange, and every now and again, Alex would spot wisps of smoke and haze fluttering through, tending to whatever laid inside. He laughed elatedly, seeing the wonder and beauty through it all.

None of it made sense, which only added to the delight.

They continued onwards.

* * *

Behind the veils of time and space, she watched.

Once upon a time, she had been a person. Born with the knowledge and understanding of the worlds around her, she excelled in life, and grew to be loved by everyone. But that wasn't enough for her. She wanted more. She learned forgotten knowledge, sacrificed herself to her work, and began to change as a life form.

By the time she breached reality for the first time, she didn't need her body anymore. Her mind became her body, and upon discovering life, she would take shape once again. She visited countless realities, and appeared as a god. She made allies and friends, encountered new life forms, and even found love.

Before long, everyone she knew had died.

She should have shared her knowledge, but she hadn't. She had been tasked with protecting the secrets of life itself. She felt neither hatred nor regret. She mourned for the dead, but felt no pity. If one lived their life to the fullest, then nothing should have brought grief as they passed.

Instead, she was bored. Slowly but surely, every interaction she had was turned into nothing but digits and figures, filed away for analysing. She had experienced so much, and thus, was losing her ability to… _experience._

She lashed out. She faded into the veil of space, and brooded for millennia.

It was a lonely existence.

Eventually, she began to watch others. Watching heroes triumph over evil, love blossom between foes, the will of people overcoming impossible odds. She changed and began… _feeling,_ again.

Slowly, she began to... meddle. Granting weapons of justice and light to heroes, encouraging love, twisting fate to benefit a weary traveller, or in several cases, making a boy trip into erotic situations.

Before long though, she realized that if she took action herself, things would quickly become boring. But if she decided to grant others some powers….

Well, Netflix had gotten old years ago.

Of course, she had done things like this before. Sending people into realities of their own making, sending people back in time with their knowledge of the future, grabbing people after death and giving them a second chance - in layman's terms, watching the weak become strong.

_**"…"**_

Hmm.

In this case, emphasis on the _weak_.

* * *

He's not freaking out right now. He should be, but he isn't. He's standing in front of the closest thing to a god right now, and he's just sitting there, drinking tea as if it was an everyday occurrence.

It's probably because he thinks it's all a steaming pile of bullshit.

He takes note of the tea, Earl Grey. It's perfect in every way. The scent calms him, which helps in this entire situation. There are holes in her story. (His brain gave up. As inhuman as she was, it was too much of a hassle to keep calling her an it.) If she truly was as old as she said she was, then she should have seen everything there could have been seen.

He believes some of it though. The powers, her evolution into godhood, other gods fumbling around the cosmos. He believes it, because he isn't creative enough to think up of the stuff that he had seen here. It's the lifespan that he doesn't believe. Several millennia, billions of years, all spent alone. He just doesn't believe that anyone could do that. He doesn't believe it's worth the agony.

He thinks, and he tries not to show it, that they wouldn't be remotely human anymore.

Instead, he asks one of the more pressing questions lingering in his head.

"Why me?"

To be honest, he had been prepared to be let down. Out of all the people in the world, god decided to pay him a visit. Was it fate? Was it the whims of life? Or was it destiny, calling out for him?

"_**That's not destiny calling for you, It's me."**_

Still didn't hurt any less.

"Well, technically, in some small aspect, you kinda _are,_ uh..._, were ? _My destiny? "

"_**Fair enough,-"**_

"Hold up. You still didn't answer the question. Why choose me out of everyone else in the universe? And plus, in all the millennia you lived, _this-"_

He gestured around him.

"-_this _is one time you thought about doing so?"

She slowly turns to him. _(And this is coincidentally the exact moment where Alex recalls that curiosity killed the cat, the cat being him, and curiosity is the God with untold powers that had lived for billions and billions of years that's sitting across from him that could potentially turn him into a very fine paste with a flick of her hand.)_

"Random chance. And no, this isn't the first time I've done this. "

She receives a withered look, and chuckles to herself.

"**As you probably forgot, I am still mortal. Longevity was one of my first goals, amongst other things, but as my body is one of a god-"**

She tapped her head.

"**My mind is still mortal."**

It takes a second for the ball to drop.

Alex nearly barks out in laughter. A brief flash of a distant migraine hit him, and he stumbles. Disbelief crosses his face. "You? You, god. Capital G, GOD. You, out of all people, can forget things ?!"

She sighs. _**"As expansive as my mind is, I have to be selective about these things."**_

Grumbling, she rapped her knuckles on his head, causing him to wince.

_**"There's not enough room in here for everything. When one memory comes in, another goes out."**_

She sags in her seat. _**"Sometimes there are memories that I can't forget. Even if the world grows more and more distant from the time they came from. I can't just 'forget' something, I have to remove it on purpose. Some memories are here to stay, because if I forget, it would be a dishonour, and it would tarnish my soul. Some are here to bind me to reality. Some remind me of past mistakes. If I lose even these, then I'll have nothing left."**_

Alex wisely stays silent. Until he doesn't. (He is not a wise man)

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "This is going to sound really stupid, but, why don't you just write all your memories down?"

She stares (Well, he thinks she stares, he can't really tell) at him innocuously, before bursting into bitter laughter. _**"You honestly think I haven't thought of that?"**_

She weaves another archway of brilliant light, and brings it into the room. Striding through, she beckons him to follow her onto the edge of a walkway. He does so cautiously, and finds himself in space.

**Oh Christ almighty.**

_Space. The final frontier of humanity. Endless possibilities, of which we had only scratched the surface of. Countless galaxies and nebulas swam in the ocean of darkness, lighting up the sky. Words cannot describe the utter tininess that he feels; that he __**knows**__; he is only just a speck amongst the stars above._

Out here, she shines brighter than the stars combined, and it hurts to even glance at her. She points to a small speck in the night sky.

"_**Do you see that planet? That planet is dedicated to my written memories. Millennia of my life. But I will never be able to read them. Even if I did, they'd be pushed out within a week's time."**_

As much as it hurts, Alex looks at her face. Somehow without features, he can see her sorrow.

And abruptly, it shuts off.

"**Now that's enough of that."**

She claps, space vanishes, and as the room reappears, he finds himself flat on his ass again. She's sitting on the desk, legs swinging and now sprawled across the top with a sort of enviable loose grace.

She seemed to be in her element, and stares at him intently.

"**Enough exposition. We're here because of what you can do for me."**

She receives a cocked eyebrow in response.

"Me? A lowly mortal, help a god? What use am I for you?"

She smiles, a mouth carving itself onto her face, and it's at this moment he remembers that she isn't fully human. The smile is just a little too wide, a little too happy, leaving an unsettling feeling in the bottom of his stomach.

"_**Entertainment."**_

Alex is thoroughly unnerved.

"_**Anyways, here are your choices."**_

Another archway opens. He feels several nauseating presences enter the room. He registered them as wisps of light, less than matter, slightly more substance than air. He quickly shuts his eyes. She had called them her attendants. To him, they are little more than nightmares.

_You called ?_

Instead of hearing their voices, he… _feels_ it. Its smooth, but it is - in its own way - somehow much worse than the monstrosity that is God. It _feels _contaminated, and makes him sick to his stomach.

A light chuckle echoes from her.

_**"Perhaps, it would be easier on his mind were you to be heard and not seen. Such is the frailty of the human soul."**_

_Very well_, One of them says. _Open your eyes. You shall see only what you can comprehend._

He inches them open. He sees only God. The presence of the three terrors still floats like diseased air, but this is better, at least.

Chucking, _**"I often mis-remember how they must be catalogued within the human mind. You have my condolences."**_

And beside her, there are now three rings, hovering in the air. They're made of gold, (or what looks to be gold), while etched onto their surface contain symbols that glow red and hum. The myriad of patterns differ between the three rings, and with one, he hears faint singing, another, he hears laughter, and one has silence.

He catches his hand, sneaking up to touch them.

God brushes against their edges, and from inside the ring, portals of blackened ichor bleed into existence, its substance dripping at the edges.

"_**These will take you into other worlds. Universes within universes, all catalogued and made by yours truly."**_

That statement was his brain's cue to suspend operations.

"That _can't_ be real! That completely breaks the fundamental laws of reality You can't just '_make' _a universe, and just call it a day!"

"_**Yeah, and the rest of this doesn't reality's puny spine over its knee ? Reality is just your way of saying it's your perception of what you think you see and what you think you feel. I just happen to disagree with your sense of it, and decided to employ my own-"**_

"No Mary Poppin speak please."

"_**Any technology advanced enough is indistinguishable from magic."**_

"...Ah."

"_**Of course, I'm not mean enough to throw you into a new world without help-"**_

Now this is the part where he understands. He's watched enough anime to make sense of what she actually means.

_Superpowers._

_Weapons of light and justice._

_Game screens._

He knows he's watched a little too much isekai anime, and he knows he's trash, but they all dwarf in comparison of the thought of, _hey, superpowers_!

"_**-so here's a stick."**_

"…You bitch."

She scoffs, lazily flinging a stick at him.

He takes a look at it, and finds it to be utterly lacking. A simple rod that seems to be made of an unknown metal, a grip in the middle that houses a hollow centre, and a button on its side. He presses it, and it collapses on itself, fitting neatly into his pocket.

_He wasn't expecting anything, and he was still disappointed._

"_**You can choose to forget everything that's happened here, or you can choose one of these worlds. What's your choice?"**_

_He's both surprised and disappointed in himself that he finds his answer so easily._

* * *

They stare at the portal.

Her attendants and her stand at the brink of the portal, watching the surface ripple. After the initial screaming, silence quickly returned.

_You lied to him._

"_**I did, and so what? He's none the wiser, gets a happy ending, and I get my entertainment. What's it to you?"**_

_Nothing, really. But why talk to him at all in the first place ? Couldn't you just have sent him on his way the moment you wanted to ?_

_**"I felt bored. It's been a long time since I was human. Wanted to catch a glimpse of it again. I don't think I remember what it's like."**_

Her assistant looked at her.

_You wish to surrender your infinite lifespan and near-omnipotent powers to reincarnate with a life of barely one hundred years and your wisdom and experiences wiped clean each time?_ The attendants asked with mild surprise.

It was met with a blank look that clearly suggested that she did not see the question coming.

_**"You think it's weird?"**_

_I certainly cannot see myself considering the same._

"_**Hmm,"**_ She turns on her heel, gazing at her memory planet. "_**How long has it been since you were brought into existence?"**_

_If my memory is correct, I believe approximately a millennium ago._ They answered as they searched through their vast store of memories, trying to dig up its singular origin.

As they did, the expression on her face gradually shifted from blankness to comprehension.

_**"Mmm, I guess you wouldn't understand, then."**_

_Is that so?_

"_**Yeah. In my case, it's been about twenty seven billion seven hundred and eighty million years since I ascended. Around that anyway. That's what I can remember."**_

She turned and smirked sadly. "_**And in case you're wondering, yes, it's nothing but pure agony."**_

She let out a sigh. It was small, but it was also deep. The weight attached to the sigh, coupled with the darkness in her eyes when she glanced over; now _that_ sent chills down their non-existent spine.

At once, it realised that for a being of just a mere millennia, the sheer depth of the void they saw in their creators eyes was entirely out of their grasp. The gaping void of abyss was nothing compared to what she was.

"_**I'm tired. I'm just… tired. I've already forgotten such emotions. I've forgotten how long I've forgotten. I simply create, destroy, and create again. I'm just a vessel of memories; a mere construct of remembrance. If this is what it means to be an Omnipotent being, then… is there anything left to do but laugh?"**_

They tried to speak, but no words came. It bit its lip, realising the true extent of her existence and the immeasurable vastness of her time. There were no words it could say that the being before her had not already heard. There was no comfort she could offer.

"_**It's the worst thing to know everything, but not to remember anything. To become god is the worst achievement there is."**_

* * *

**Well, that was a bit dark. Once again, Firelark beta'ed this for me, so thanks to her again.**

**Not much to say other than that, other than review if you get the chance to. It reminds writers like me that someone _actually _is reading this trash, which makes me happy.**

**Good day to you all !**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 - **Why yes, I just checked. I still hate myself

* * *

Most quotes on earth can be compared to bullshit. Some bullshit is alright, since it can be used to fertilize crops, which grow into food sources that actually have use for the general public, but with so much bullshit, all you've done is smear and ruin the place, bringing down the property value with colloquialism.

Much like this metaphor that's gone for far too long.

For example, a famous singer said, _'Music isn't for the eyes, it's for the ears.'_

Sounds wordy, and gives you a few seconds of feeling superior before you stop and think about it. First, you think, 'oOoH, look at me ~ I'm all philosophical and stuff.' Then, you delve into the second layer which you realize that, yeah, no shit, you listen to music with your ears, because MUSIC IS SOUND.

You feel like a utter moron for wasting your time on that, until you reach the third phase, where you try to find something meaningful in the quote. Something around the lines of, 'Hmm, maybe the person is referencing how eyes are the window to the soul, and that when she said '_music isn't for the eyes'_, she meant how music wasn't some sort of revelation, and that music was just meant for enjoyment instead of finding some hidden message that spoke to you on a spiritual level.

Then you loop back round again to realize that most art is only valued so highly because they're used as tax deductibles when given to charity.

This is the part where most people pull out. Keep delving into that rabbit hole, and you'll soon find some very nice people in white shirts who'll put you in a cosy little room where they'll hit you if you laugh a little too much.

The point is, some things shouldn't need to be said.

…

Now with _that_ being said, Alex should really invest in some hearing aids because apparently, he's never heard of the term _look before you leap_.

Usually, Alex laughs at little titbits of advice like these, along with palm readings, zodiac signs and fortune telling.

Usually, Alex would smirk, tilt his chin up, and respond in a very tongue in cheek fashion.

"If I could see the dangers ahead, why would I walk in that direction?"

Usually, his normal morning routine does not involve him talking to god, insulting her, and walking headfirst into a glowing portal that transports him into the skyline.

Ales is a man with a problem.

Correction- he has alot of problems, but the only one that does matter is the inevitable death that's hurtling towards him at holy fuck that's fast miles per holy crap we're going to die hours.

He thinks all of this because he's currently skydiving.

Without a parachute.

He _tries_ to turn on his heel, (keyword is _try_), only to find the portal had vanished, leaving him to fall to his doom.

* * *

Some say that at your last moments you are at your bravest, allowing death to cart you to the unknown and finally end the story of your life. Others say that you are at your wisest, and that having the knowledge of everything you had witnessed over a lifetime made you that much wiser.

Alex would have liked to say that he faced his demise head-on, smiling at the end.

But he didn't. He wasn't brave or courageous, nor typically awe inspiring. He was in over his head, playing with gods and magic and powers beyond comprehension.

In an ironic way, it was peaceful. As the wind roared and howled at him, the rush of air left a loud ringing noise that nearly rendered him deaf. There was nothing but blue skies for miles around, the ocean stretched before him, blending into the horizon.

Had he not been falling to his death, maybe he could have enjoyed it.

Instead, he did what he did best.

_Cry like a little bitch._

He shared his final words with the world.

"crap."

…. He shared his final word(s) with the world.

" OH CRAAAAPP !"

…close enough.

* * *

_Now this is just cruel._

"_**Hush now. This is my entertainment."**_

_You're sadistic; you __**do **__know that right?_

"_**Yeah, yeah. You try living to a billion first; then we'll talk."**_

* * *

Falling to one's death would be one of, if not the lowest points of someones life. To Alex, after the initial shock of the situation, it was quite appalling how quickly he cycled through the stages of grief.

Denial - He had already gone through it with the whole 'god' thing.

Anger - He was never one for anger, not since he was a kid. And with this final stunt with her, he didn't think he even _had _the energy to be angry.

Bargaining - Well, not much you can offer gravity _or_ death.

Depression – Everyone had their edgy phase.

Acceptance - Well, he was waiting, wasn't he?

The giant walls visible in the mountains beyond the horizon were huge enough to confuse his sense of perspective. It clearly was not of the planet he knew, as they were huge enough to easily span over several continents. They belonged in a fantasy. This was clearly not a landscape from Earth.

Yeah, _sure_, he was going to die, but that didn't mean he couldn't admire the view. Once in a lifetime, right?

In this case, literally, he mused.

But life is never that simple. Life didn't want a (somewhat) peaceful death for him. Life is never what is first seems to be, and what plans it had for him was currently overtaken by the whims of a god.

His tragic conviction was broken by a voice ringing out clearly beside him.

"_**So, whatcha think about this world? "**_

"YOU TWAT!"

She tsked.

"_**Language~"**_

"FUCK YOU ! GET ME DOWN FROM HERE !"

"_**I got tired of exposition up there, and everyone knows the best way to learn something is under life threatening pressure."**_

"This is not a life-threatening situation! This is a LIFE-_ENDING_ SITUATION!"

She ignored him.

"_**Now then, you have your own little world to play in, and there are no rules, since this is for the pleasure for me, but if you can learn to enjoy-"**_

"I'M FALLING TO MY DEAT-"

"_**Stop interrupting me. If you can enjoy this world, then we both get something out of this, no evil karma backlash and all that, so if you want to go psycho and rule the world, I wouldn't mind tha-"**_

"Jesus Christ-"

"_**Doesn't exist here, just one of the first devil fruit users to manipulate water. Anyways, try not to die alright? It's kinda hard making an entire universe, festering it for a few millennia, and making it just right for this situation."**_

"I'mgoingtodie-"

"_**Shut up, just have fun and everything should happen as you remember. I think. I may have screwed up on some parts, but it should roughly play out the same way."**_

"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT ?!"

She grinned.

"_**I hope you prove to be a good investment. Have fun~"**_

-And with that, he lost consciousness.

* * *

…_.This is just pathetic. For a being that lives for an eternity, you somehow have the density and social skills of a rock._

"_**I don't see you trying."**_

_I'm not as fickle as you to upturn someone's entire life on a whim._

"…_**Fair enough."**_

* * *

Unlike his crew-mates (And by _god,_ if that word still doesn't sound foreign to him), Sanji wakes and rises with the sun. As soon as the first few rays of sunlight hits him, he's already up, wiping his face off with a damp cloth.

Yawning, he stumbles his way to the kitchen. This early in the morning, his walk has none of his usual gait nor grace. But as he enters the kitchen, he sighs in relief, clearly in his element. He heads straight for the cupboards that houses the coffee beans. He finds the jar, and pries it open. His hands are quick and experienced as he toils effortlessly through the kitchen, picking up pots and kettles, setting them to boil.

He works the grinder, making sure the coffee grounds are as smooth as they can be. There's a lull in the atmosphere that reminds him of the Baratie.

Impatiently, he taps his fingers on the counter as he brews his first cup of the day. It was only experience, personal pride, and a routine hammered into him that kept him rushing the process and making a less than perfect product. Simmering coffee grinds was a fine art, and Sanji of the Baratie would not settle for making a less-than-perfect drink, no matter what sorry state he was in.

Still though, before coffee, he was a cranky, slow moving lethargic fool who understood nothing thanks to sleep deprivation. Now, after coffee, he was a cranky, slow moving relaxed fool who still understood nothing, all thanks to the shenanigans Luffy brought to him that he was (only starting) to get accustomed to.

He hums as he takes his first sip, turning to another compartment to take note of the remaining supplies. A few meagre crates of food is all that remain, and he sighs. To a normal crew, that would be plenty to feed for a solid month. To the strawhats, he would be lucky to get through the week. He supposed he could substitute some bacon with more fresh fruit, but that would only tide their appetites for so long.

It's at times like these that Sanji is fortunate that Luffy's dietary requirements are essentially just the word 'YES' underlined and written in size thirty two bold italic font.

They should restock soon. He makes a mental note to remind Nami to find an island to resupply. Maybe they'll get lucky, and can pick up some fruit or some wildlife.

As if on cue, the door opens again. When it's this early in the morning, he doesn't have to turn to know who it is. Speak of the Devil.

When Nami and Sanji pass each other, the former grunts to the other in acknowledgement. The latter simply smiles, sharing her pain and pours her some coffee. It's not as an energetic greeting as he would usually address her with, but both of them are still weighed down by the dredges of sleep, and are still tired and hungry and just so _goddamn _lethargic.

Nami takes a small sip from her mug, nodding to herself. It passes her test, and drains the cup in one go. Sanji hands her the rest from a pot, and turns to finish brewing another kettle. She refills the mug, mutters a coarse '_thanks _' and turns to leave. Probably to finish up plotting how far they've traveled through the night.

Sanji hums in appreciation.

* * *

Some of the strawhats are under the impression that their fellow navigator drinks _as much_, if not _more_ than Zoro. They're not exactly wrong, you see, but she most certainly does **not** wake up to a bottle of whisky.

She doesn't have a reason to. Not anymore.

Then again, some good coffee or tea do the job just as great when you don't need to stumble out of bed and squint at the sun as if it's personally done you wrong. She takes a sip, relishing in the bittery richness of the blend.

When the sun starts to peek over the horizon and the veil of night hasn't fully been lifted yet, she can still make out most of the stars in the sky. A few adjustments to her sextant, and she's already plotting their past stretch of their route.

She peers at her handiwork, taking loving care to mark clearly.

Shes spotted a few islands bearing north and east of their course, but nothing too noteworthy. Judging by their size, they're too small to contain any ecosystem worthy of supplies. She doesn't have much hope for the island that right in the middle of their course. While it's certainly larger than the others, it's still too far to make out. Based off their infamous strawhat luck, (though she blames luffy in particular, since _he's_ _the moron_ that drags them anywhere and everywhere), there's probably only going to be some smaller animals here and there, but almost certainly none big enough to count as food. Maybe a few fruits.

She finishes with a flourishing stroke, nodding at the map.

It's coming along nicely, and its miles better than what she used to have. Not only is it bigger, but it's certainly more detailed. Now that she's not spending every waking moment looking for treasure to pay off the debt, she can use the extra time to map out weather patterns that frequent certain areas, boundary reefs and other whatnots.

The weather seemed to be holding up. Par from an unusual streak through the clouds-

Wait.

She squints at the morning sunrise again. She hears whistling, a speck flying through the sky- _no_. Her eyes widen, finding herself momentarily stunned.

_It's a human._

She's too far to see their features, but as they grow close to the surface, she starts to make out limbs, confirming her suspicions. They're heading straight for the island.

A small, subconscious, morbid part of her briefly wonders if they're conscious enough to see their own death, hurtling towards them.

* * *

_**Oh no... I screwed up on some bits here.**_

_Where- Oh that's a biggie._

_**Well, what are the chances he going to catch it?**_

_From his personality? Pretty goddamn high. I mean, have you seen his family?_

_**Ah, crap. You think I should give him a handicap?**_

* * *

"Ugh…ughhh…"

The feeling of soil. The scent of fresh flowers. The rustle of leaves in the wind. None of which would be words to describe a bedroom in the middle of the city. When he came to, Alex was lying on the ground. He groaned, feeling content on just laying there for now. His muscles ached in response.

"What just happened…?"

_Irrational Alex had little to say._ "_**A dream?"**_

He thought so, but didn't say it. Only protagonists said such things, and more often than not, it would turn out to be true. He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a stick. He clicked it, and it expanded in his hand.

_...shit._

"It wasn't a dream." Whispered Alex, feeling a bit like a silly twit now.

With these thoughts, he stood up, and no matter how he tried to pretend he didn't notice, there was soil under his feet. An unfamiliar sky soared overhead, and-

"Gaaaah!"

-realized that he was standing at the edge of a cliff and stepped back in a panic. Looking over the panorama from the cliff, he saw an unbelievable landscape spreading out before him.

A jungle. A real, down to earth, goddamn jungle. To some, that would hardly be something to be impressed by, but for a city boy like him, it was a foreign concept, much like dragons or magic. Beyond the jungle was the ocean, as far as the eye could see. It only took a moment, but something finally clicked in his head.

This was an island.

_Irrational Alex decided to throw in his two cents. _"**Pardon my french, but… fuck your luck."**

_I agree._

* * *

"_**You know what?"**_

_what._

"_**I'll give him a handicap."**_

_How… _generous _of you. I'm going to regret asking, but what type of handicap?_

* * *

Eventually, Alex stopped screaming.

Instead of wasting energy cursing the god who put him there, he went exploring. He could insult her later, as he decided the need for shelter outweighed the need to explore the english lexicon and thoroughly explain what every degenerative word meant, and how it represented her.

He picked up his jaw, and went on his (un)merry way.

That's why he finds himself lost in the jungle. Beneath the canopy of trees, where bugs, insects and animals roam free, he's scared out of his wits, pissed off to high heaven, and he's thirsty. Very thirsty.

Water and food are the first things on his mind. He's not naive enough to believe that he can halfass his own survival. Just because some god picked him for entertainment didn't mean he had plot armour.

_Irrational Alex piped up._ "**But if this doesn't give you plot armour, what will ?"**

Or maybe he did.

* * *

He definitely didn't.

The islands not exactly small, but its small enough for him to easily make his way through the entire thing. He's spotted a shortcut towards the beach, where he could probably get his bearings. Thing is, the short cut requires him to jump from a large ledge, to another, smaller ledge, where the path continues.

He's not unathletic by any means, and there's no way the fall would kill him, so he decides to test his so called 'plot armour'. The height of a few meters should be nothing compared to a skydive without a parachute right?

…

Wrong.

He tenses himself, bouncing on the balls of his feet, and just before he's about to jump, he first trips over his own feet.

Then over a treacherous patch of air, sending his face crashing down onto the ledge.

When his legs collapse soon after, he _thinks _he feels something twists 180 degrees the wrong way, _almost certain_ that his ribs are bruised, and is _completely sure_ he hates himself.

Just when Alex's starting to wish the ground would open up to swallow him and end his misery, it does exactly that.

The ledge breaks beneath his weight, and he tumbles the rest of the way down to the ground where he belongs, just like the trash he is.

* * *

_Alright, I'll admit it. _That _was funny._

* * *

The sun is hot and is wreaking havoc in his eyes.

The sand is horrible and gritty and it gets everywhere.

His will to live is slowly dissolving.

He's at the beach now. He stumbled his way through the jungle, braved the treacherous path through the massive hills that could have been mistaken for quite a very small mountain, and finds himself at the edge of the island.

It's a goddamn island. He's _stranded_ on a _goddamn island._

_And this was supposed to be entertaining?_

He wants to cry, or have a breakdown; maybe even a tantrum.

He takes a moment to fall apart internally.

The sun is starting to set, but he's too tired to care, and starts turning back, hoping to find adequate shelter for the night. Maybe there would be a cave or something; just enough to keep the wind off his back.

He turns to do just that, when something catches in the corner of his eye.

His curiosity piqued; he turns toward the object.

_A black pedestal._

_..._

_It's pretty goddamn obvious whos it's from._

Alex stomps his way across the sandy planes, making his way toward the pillar. A small white container rests upon it, innocently perched on the raised platform.

Irrational Alex had little use. "**What's that?"**

_What do you think it is?_

"**It looks like a chest."**

_Then that's what it is._

"**But what's inside?"**

_If I knew, would we be having this conversation ?_

Obviously, it was a chest. It was meant to be opened.

"**Yeah, you don't say."**

The question was, what the hell was in it. For all he knew, it could have been a bomb. A god that threw him out of the sky and left him on a stranded island for '_entertainment_' was liable to do anything. Anything was fair game.

...then again, if it was a bomb, he wouldn't have to deal with this shit anymore.

He clenches his fist.

The latches were on the other side, which means it would open outwards. Would it explode as he opened it? Or would it just burst from where the box was opened ? Was it even a bomb? If it wasn't, what else could it be ?

"… **Fuck it."**

He gripped the sides, and lifted it up. The moment it ceased contact, the pedestal turned to dust. The remains blew away in the wind, and the chest slowly pried itself open.

No flashy effects, nor exploding artefacts.

"**That was anticlimactic." **Irrational Alex mused.

_Yeah, you don't say._

And the contents ?

He pulls out a glowing misshapen fruit.

"**The fuck is that ?"**

"The fuck is this ?"

* * *

**Yes, that quote was from Adele. I mean no offence to any Adele fans. That was just the first quote that I could find that sounded cool, but has no real substance. As Geralt from Witcher would say, it's like ordering a pie to find that it had no filling.**

**The humor in this slightly off. It may be because I'm on my meds, but I think its fine. If it doesn't work, I'll re-edit the humor.**

**As usual, Review or follow. They're the lifeblood of small writers like us, reminding us that real people are reading these fics.**

**Or don't. I can't make you.**

**Good day to all!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4** \- Bullshit is my speciality

* * *

Alright. Things look bad.

He's stranded on a deserted island, and he's tired, thirsty and hungry. He's _very_ hungry.

But he's not desperate. He hopes he's _never _desperate enough to eat whatever the HELL the thing he's holding in his hand is.

It's a fruit. A crude imitation of a one, but it's clearly a fruit. It looks like a single cherry with its stem still attached. But that's where the similarities end.

Not only is it much larger than normal, it's glowing, slimy, and coloured red. Bloody red.

He prays fervently that the pulsating effect that the fruit has is just some sort of optical illusion.

The alternative is that the fruit is alive.

He's not going to try to think about it too hard. It's the metaphorical rabbit hole again.

Instead, he shoves it in his pocket and passes his problems off to his future self.

* * *

There are many ways one could wake up in the morning.

The slow, gradual awakening that comes as the sun slowly rises, basking the room with its warmth. The smell of foodstuffs, tea, or coffee. Having one's name called by a loving family, stating breakfast is ready. Birdsong, the rushing of waves, hell, even a heavy downpour could be a nice thing to wake up to.

Unfortunately for Zoro, all he has to wake up to is swirly-brows' shitty shouting, Luffy's kick to the face as he rushes out, and pain.

He hisses as he pries Usopp's spiky thingymajigs out of the heel of his foot. Taking a deep, not entirely calming breath, he holds it, slowly counting to ten.

"…"

"Oi! MOSS-HEAD! If you don't get your ass up here, I'm giving your portion to Luffy!"

"…"

He needs another ten count.

"I'M WARNING YOU!"

…And possibly new crewmates.

* * *

Nami really hopes that the crew didn't find the body.

Considering where they were positioned early morning, and how fast they travelled, it's more than likely that the body landed on this island. Probably mangled beyond belief, either eaten by the wildlife, or flattened by the fall.

It's a morbid thought, and she hates herself for thinking it, but she really doesn't want to be the one to deal with it. One thing about this crew is that they're much more lax on the pillage and plunder part of pirates. They're much nicer, but that just means they're also more naïve.

She briefly contemplates telling them to stay near the ship, but as soon as they dock, Luffy's gone before she can give any warning, so that plan's already shot to hell. Instead, she sighs, picks up her staff, and marches into the forest.

She doesn't know why she does this. Maybe it's to get closure? To find some sort of identification?

For whatever reason, she still braces herself for a mangled corpse.

The forest isn't dense. It's quite quiet, and there's enough light filtering through that she can easily navigate through the trees.

The birds are twittering, and she hears a waterfall further up ahead. She'll take a small break there, look around for a few more minutes, then head back.

That's what she expected.

What she doesn't expect is to find someone completely unharmed, swearing up a storm as he try to light a fire.

"You!"

"Me? I'm sorry, but am I supposed to know you-" He pauses. "What kind of _idiot_ dyes their hair orange?"

* * *

Finch has many habits that cause no end of frustration and irritation for himself which he never quite has the time to observe and rationalize. One is this: When he's startled, he'll state the first thing in his mind, with no regard to how offensive it is or whether he'll place himself in mortal danger for saying it.

"What kind of _idiot _dyes their hair orange?"

To others, it may seem that Finch simply has no filter from his brain to his mouth, or that he can't keep a secret if his life depended on it. That's not true. He's great at holding his cards close to his chest. With his resting bitch face, he's a natural at lies and deception. It's just that without a ikea-esque guide, he's horrible at first impressions.

Hell, his first impressions usually aren't even this bad. He's just a tad bit too surprised to see a GODDAMNED ANIME CHARACTER IN FRONT OF HIM. Needless to say, his thoughts really aren't on whether he's making a good impression.

"-how did you survive?"

…great. He missed the last part of the conversation as well.

"Hey! I'm talking to you! Do you have amnesia or something?"

"I…"

He could go with that. He's not going to explain that god decided to throw him into (what seemed to be) the One Piece universe, and he's sure as hell not going to explain that he's from a different universe where he knew all their secrets.

"I… yeah. I think so."

And just like that, he's now an amnesiac. In for a penny, in for a pound.

* * *

Some say that Zoro is horrible at making friends, or even passing acquaintances.

They're not wrong.

He's blunt, and he knows it. That doesn't mean he's an idiot.

He's perceptive. It's something no one really expects from him, but as a swordsman, he's learnt to pick up on the little things. Stances, facial expressions, _hell_, even the way one talks, it's all indicative of how someone fights.

He's no empath, but he likes to think he's good at reading people.

Then again, it doesn't take a genius to see that something's wrong when Nami starts pacing the deck, biting her nails, and stares silently at the island. When she sighs into her hand, picks up her staff, and starts making her way into the jungle, it's clearly his cue to follow her.

He didn't suspect much, at least for a while.

But when they come across a girl spitting insults at a pile of firewood, as out of place it may be, it raises his suspicions.

He narrows his eyes, lowering his hand towards the hilt of his sword. She seems unarmed, but Zoro's not taking any chances.

Something nudges at his instincts. Her presence is an aberration. He can't read her at all. He doesn't think it's a lack of ability to do so, but everything about her seems… for the lack of a better term, off.

And judging how Nami is staring at her, slack jawed, even she feels it.

When they start turning back, he's quick to follow.

Zoro carefully positions himself behind them, ready to strike at a moment's notice.

It would have made sense if she reacted the way she did when she saw Zoro. He was a bounty hunter. He knows he's a _little _infamous.

"…" Actually _very _infamous, but that's not the point. Thing is, he's recognisable. Nami isn't, and he's sure she only saw her. The expression disappeared as soon as it appeared, but he knows what he saw.

It wasn't surprise or shock that fled her features.

It was recognition.

* * *

"Amnesia? You sure?"

"I don't think he's lying."

"I think he is. If not, then he's not telling the whole truth."

"He isn't."

Zoro hummed to himself. "Something I should know about?"

"I… no. It's nothing. Just keep an eye on him."

* * *

Sanji swooned.

Finch… did not.

" A pleasure to meet you ma'am. I'm Sanji, a humble chef, and these knuckleheads behind me are my crew."

"It's a, um…pleasure? A pleasure to meet you?"

Oh god. It was worse up close. Somehow, the iris of his eyes turned into hearts, as he twirled his way over.

"The rising sun can only pale to your beauty milady!"

Finch wondered how long it would take for him to realize the truth, and whether or not to burst his dreams.

"-as such, I swear on my life to protect such fair maide-"

He tuned him out. _Nah_. This was _much_ better.

Nami couldn't keep it anymore. "Hey uh, _snrkt,_ Sanji? Finch isn't a, _hehe_, a _girl._"

Sanji paused mid rapture.

His face is pretty in a vaguely androgynous way and his hair is short and messy. He was skinny, causing some slight curving, while the flatness of the chest and the voice had a pleasant contrast. Finch was a foreign name to him, but it sounded as if it was used for both men and women.

He now wants to rinse his eyes out with bleach. Probably his brain too.

"It's the cheekbones. _I know_." Finch sighs.

Sanji stands there, sputtering and staring.

It doesn't take long for Finch to speak up. "By the way, do you have anything to eat? I don't think I've eaten a proper meal in a long time." Her_-His._ **His **stomach growls in unison, and he turns his head in embarrassment.

That does little to calm his inner turmoil, but at least this is familiar territory.

* * *

Finch is now an amnesiac. He's never had amnesia before, but that certainly won't stop him.

It isn't like amnesiacs are completely clueless, though. Things like how to cross the road, talking and eating, aren't subjects of confusion. Amnesiacs only lose their memories. They keep knowledge.

A person's knowledge is like a dictionary.

For example, amnesiacs can understand what a steak is. It's a cooked cut of meat from a cow. But they won't know what steak tastes like, because they have no experiences to tell them what a steak _should_ taste like. All in all, he doesn't have to try very hard to act like an amnesiac. He actually doesn't have any experiences in this world, so he's got plenty of leeway to make mistakes.

And yet, _somehow,_ he's already fucked up.

* * *

"So, what exactly _do_ you remember?"

"I admit, not much. Just my name really, and other bits and pieces." He paused to take a sip of water. "It's Finch by the way. Alexander Finch."

Nami hummed. "You remember where you're from? Or what island?"

"Not really. I'm not even sure what Blue I'm in."

She looked surprised. "Right now, we're in the east blue. "

Alex paused in thought.

She shook her head. "But anyways, we're a couple of days away from the next populated island, so you're going to have to help out. Pulling rigs, steering, so forth."

"I have to say that being on a ship feels foreign to me. Not sure what little help I can provide, but I'll do my best."

"It shouldn't be too bad. Maybe you were a sailor or something. It's not that rare over in this blue. We've got more water than land, so it's quite common for people to know how to sail. "

"You shouldn't count on it."

"Why not?" She questioned. "It's possible you were."

"Oh, I know I'm not." He absently replies.

She paused, slowly turning to him. "I thought you had amnesia."

Everyone tenses. Or, well, he _says_ _everyone_, but Luffy's too enamoured by his meal to actually respond to her reply. And Sanji's still looking as if he had a epiphany, ever since he realised he was a guy. And Zoro was already tense, so come to think of it, it would be more accurate to say Nami tensed.

"I do?"

"…Then how did you know?"

He paused, fork halfway to his mouth. He hesitates, eyes shifting across the table.

"No, it's just a thing I do- actually, wait. It's easier to show you."

He takes a step back, breathing in deeply. When he finally opens his eyes, his face is calm, his posture is straight, and his tone is dull.

"When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

"Excuse me?"

"Your hands tell a story. Your fingers have smudges of ink on them. The tips are indented, showing use of writing utensils. First I thought it was perhaps a diary, or some personal journal. But the side of your hand confirms you're the cartographer."

"A carto- what?"

"A map-maker, Luffy."

He holds his hand up, as if he's holding an invisible pen. "When writing words, the hand is positioned like this-"

He held his hand flat to the table.

"And when drawing, the hand is raised, like so. The side of the palm never touches the map, so there won't be any stains on the side."

She examines her hand, and to her surprise, what he said was true.

"Not to burst your bubble or anything, but while small, there _are_ stains on here."

"True, but that's what proved my theory. You write a little as well. You're the navigator. What person on a ship draws a lot, writes very little, and uses measuring tools on a daily basis? Someone who's drawing a map. It wasn't a hard leap of logic to see you're the navigator as well."

The room stands in shocked silence.

"That's not it. I can also tell from you've been in an older pirate crew or a gang."

"How !?"

"Your tattoo. It's recent. Very recent. The ink sheen shows it's new, but underneath it, there's a much older, more faded one. No one else here has a tattoo that has a similar shape, and the scarring shows that you've had it removed, probably at the same time you got the new one. You're relatively young,-"

"Hey!"

"Sorry, meant no offense, you look young, but that only means you got that tattoo early on. No child would have a tattoo, which means it was mandatory. Only pirates and gangs have mandatory tattoos, and since you've removed it, you've left that part of life behind you. You also leave it out in the open, which means the rest of the crew knows about it."

Everyone stares at him.

"I could go on, but I think you get the point."

"No, wait! Do me! Do me next!"

Luffy jumped toward him.

"Your hands have no marks on them."

"Awww-"

"But the lack of a story does show one. I can't say for certain, but you're probably a paramecia fruit user."

"Yeah, I am! How'd you guess?"

"No one has hands like yours. Your skin is too smooth to be natural. There's no cuts, no bruises, or even blemishes. It's impossible to work on a ship and have no calluses. The only scar you have is the one under your eye, which means you _are _capable of sustaining wounds, only that you have none. You probably ate a fruit after that wound."

"Yeah, but how did you know I'm a paramecia ? Can you guess exactly what devil fruit I have?"

"I've noticed from… uh, Sanji, was it?"

He nodded.

"From Sanji and Zoro's scars, and how they're limping and holding their sides, you've all recently been in a fight, right?"

He received affirming nods.

"Well, it's clear from your hands and feet you're a brawler. Your hands may not have any calluses, but your feet and hands are veined, deeply so. You fight with them a lot, and yet to have no scars or signs of battle shows that your devil fruit is something that directly affects your body. And since Zoan users keep scars and bruises, I would say you could have been a logia, but watching how you stretch yourself? I would say elastic skin and bones?"

Luffy's jaw hits the floor, confirming his theory.

"That still doesn't explain how you knew about yourself-"

"My hands are veiny. My feet aren't, and I have no muscle mass. That means I don't fight or exert myself often, which says I spend a lot of time sitting down, walking around and working with my hands. And look at me. I'm paler than all of you. That means I didn't come by ship. That means I'm not a sailor, so I'm either someone who works with tools, or writes a lot."

He gestures to his hand.

"You get veins by putting your body under stress. Exercising, lifting heavy objects, and prolonged use, that sort of stuff. The tip of my fingers are flat, I have no cuts or burns, and my hand has no markings or indents. I can safely presume that I don't work with tools, as working with tools on a daily basis would leave marks."

He takes a breath.

"It's the middle of the week, I'm still dressed casually, and considering my age, I can assume I'm a student or researcher of some sort. It doesn't say much about my identity, but that's all I can gather from what little I have."

"…"

He lets out a sigh, and just like that, his persona shatters. His posture falls apart, and he sags in his chair.

"…wha…what was that?"

He grins wryly.

"I call it my thinking face. I use it to pr-_concentrate_. It helps me concentrate on what really matters."

He stands up, breaking the quiet. "Now if you don't mind, I need to use the washroom."

The door closes behind him.

He leaves the room in a stunned silence-

The door opens again.

"Actually, where _is_ the washroom?"

* * *

**Holy crap they actually bought it.**

I just channelled Sherlock Holmes and made half that shit up.

**Dude, you made** _**all**_ **that shit up.**

It was easy once I knew who they were. I just had to find an explanation. That's like, 80 percent of life.

**What's the other 20?**

5 percent caffeine, 5 percent depression, and 10 percent spite. As long as you keep a poker face, and sound official enough, no one will question anything you do.

**Yeah, I got that, but didja have to be so dramatic?**

Actually, yes. I had to.

**Fulfilling your inner edge?**

No.

…**.**

Okay, a little, but there was a real reason too. Wasn't it obvious?

**I'm you, and even I don't know why you did that.**

…we're going to talk about that disturbing piece of information later, but essentially, it was just the art of misdirection. They're so focused on something that they didn't notice anything else.

**Which was?**

They were so focused on my posture and the over exaggeration of my stance, that they didn't notice I was sweating or how my hands were shaking. I was talking out my ass, and it showed.

**Huh. So we're not a savant.**

Only at lying.

* * *

As soon as the door closes a second time, the room erupts with noise.

"Nami! I've decided! He can be our new crewmate!"

"Luffy, you _can't_ just recruit everybody you come across."

He huffed. "And why not? Look at him! He's so cool! He can read people!"

"And that's exactly why I don't think we should. We've barely met, and he can tell someone's life story!"

"But he's sooo cooool!"

"I agree with the witch."

Sanji glared at Zoro. "Watch your mouth marimo. But… as much as it pains for me to admit it, I agree with moss-head. He's far too suspicious!"

He smirked. "You're saying that because you thought he was a girl."

"…yeah. But what Nami-swan said holds true as well."

Nami pinches the bridge of her nose. "Luffy, he admits he's just a civilian. He can't fight, and we're bound to run into more enemies. Even Usopp can fight, and I'm using the term _lightly_."

"Hey! And what'd you mean he's suspicious? He seems pretty normal to me."

"We found him on a deserted island. He's been there for god knows how long, and yet his clothes are still clean. He's an '_amnesiac'_ and yet he trusts us! We're pirates!"

"That's good, isn't it? And it doesn't matter if he can't fight! We can protect him!"

"He. _Is_. _Suspicious_." She grinds out. "Do you even know what he wants? Maybe he doesn't even want to come with us!"

* * *

Finch stood there, quietly listening.

Now that was a kink in his plans. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He nearly fucked up once, and now he came off way too suspicious thanks to it.

"-argghh!"

The door flung open and Nami came storming out.

"Those imbeciles! How they ever lived long enough to get here-"

She turned to look at Finch, conspicuously crouching behind the door.

"..."

"..."

"So... how much did you hear?"

Finch winced at her tone. "Enough."

She blushed, twisting her head in embarrassment.

"Don't feel that bad. I don't really blame you for being suspicious. I would be as well."

She turned to him, suspicion written all over her face.

"What? It's true."

She frowned. " No, it's not that. We're pirates. Granted, we don't pillage and raze villages, but how are you so calm?"

He put his finger on his chin. "I mean, think about it. I've woken up on a deserted island, with no knowledge on how I got there, and with amnesia to boot. Then, a few hours after the despair set in, a group of people come over, introduce themselves as pirates, then treat me to the best meal I've probably ever had."

He looked up at her, a depreciative grin on his face. "So much has happened in the last twelve hours, that I don't know what to feel, much less what to think. And plus, if you want me gone, there's not exactly a lot I can do to stop you."

"Then what do _you_ want?"

He paused.

He couldn't just say he wanted to join, since that would be too suspicious. But he also couldn't outright say that he _didn't_ want to join.

"Just put it to a vote."

Nami smirked. "Heh, like that'll ever work-"

* * *

"-Look. This isn't going anywhere. Let's just put it to a vote." Nami said.

Finch smiled to himself. It isn't as if Luffy **wouldn't** let him join.

"All in favour of recruiting the highly _suspicious_\- sorry no offense meant, guy with amnesia?"

Luffy and Usopp went "Aye!"

"..."

The silence was deafening.

Nami sighed in relief, as Luffy groaned. "That does it. I guess that's it, Finch. We'll just drop you off at the next populated island. It's certainly a lot safer than joining us."

On the outside, he keeps the small smile on his face. On the inside, something breaks a little. He thinks it may have been his heart.

"It's fine. A ride to the next island will be _just _fine."

* * *

Fuck.

_FUCK._

**FUUCCKKK.**

* * *

**And now, our protagonist(?) meets our crew! And with less than a day in, he's already fucked himself over! What will he ever do now ?!**

**But with a **_slightly_** more serious note, this is the first time I've tried to write the Straw-hats interactions with each other. If you have any tips or constructive criticism to add, please feel free to do so! And as always, this has been beta'ed by Firelark. Check her out!**

**As usual, comment if you like, follow if you want. I'm not your mother, I can't make you do it. The reviews and comments do remind small time writers that someone out there really is reading these things. It warms the blackened cockles of my cold dead heart.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5** \- Ah yes. Communism.

* * *

This, Finch can wholeheartedly and shamefully claim, is all his fault.

It's his fault he accepted that offer from god.

It's his fault he had to act all edgy to satisfy his inner 8th grade self.

It's his fault he has to smile cheerfully as he's being waved goodbye from the Strawhat pirates.

The last statement might seem weird, as staying away from pirates might seem a good way to decrease ones chances from dying deaths that would likely involve brutal violence, broken bones, and copious amounts of blood _outside _the human body.

That being said, it wasn't as if the marines were any better.

In this world, they operated under a thinly veiled communist regime that sought out to _eviscerate_ threats with e_xtreme_ prejudice. Mass genocide, _several_ black ops, and enough blackmail across the four blues to keep itself on top, leaving the rest to drown beneath the waves. Of course, it was all fine since it under the pretence of 'upholding justice'.

…Yeah, that's what Hitler said.

Which led to his current problem.

How the hell was he supposed to join up with the Strawhats when he was just kicked off?

His thoughts became more and more depressing, so he decided to stop thinking.

Waving goodbye as the group faded from view, he arranged his face into a carefully neutral expression, hiding the fact he was screaming internally.

* * *

"Uh, Sir?"

Smoker took another drag from his cigars. "Yes?"

The woman took a nervous glanced at him. "We've got trouble. Several pirate ships have docked at the pier, and they got past our sentries. They don't seem to have made contact, so we're assuming they're rivals. I've sent two platoons to arrest them on your order-"

"Don't. Recall them."

"W-what?"

"They'll gather soon enough, and when that happens, they'll fight. They always do. Keep the men prepared. We'll limit casualties and collateral damage if we swoop in and catch the whole lot at once they tire themselves out."

He frowned. "Where's Tashigi?"

"She's on break now. Left in a hurry, said something about checking out a new shop. I think they stock-"

"-swords." He grumbled. As he stood, the floor creaked ominously beneath his bulk.

"I'm going to start my patrol early. I'll need a feel on how dangerous these pirates are. Keep the men posted, and get ready for combat."

* * *

Without a real plan, Finch wandered aimlessly around town.

Any thought of this being a mass hallucination due to sleep deprivation curled up and withered away once he stepped foot into this town. He couldn't dream up something this detailed.

Louguetown. The birthplace of pirates.

The perspiration of the crowd, the noise, the conversations; all of them blended together for a symphony of sound. If not for the weapons, snail phones (Den Den Mushi?) and other knickknacks on the side stalls, he almost mistook it for a busy street on earth. It was still slightly surprising to watch people haggling over prices, a far cry from the modern supermarkets he was used to. People along the street had their weapons at hand. Sheathed in holsters, but still clearly visible. No one paid attention, and it was clear the rules of bearing weapons was far more lax than what he was used to.

He was broken out of his trance when someone bumped into him.

"Hey! Watch where you're going!"

"Wha- oh. Sorry!"

He sneered, slouching off. "No respect for adults…"

_Hang on…_

Finch turned, peering back to take another look at the man. He was hooded, and while it was hard to make out, the red nose still stood out. Unless there so happened to be a circus on tour, he had pretty good hunch on who that was. His heart pounded in his chest as he stepped away from Buggy, the clown pirate.

That and the clown themed pirate entourage that followed behind him didn't exactly help matters.

Bloody hell, what was even the point of the hood?

The crowd split around them, speaking through hushed whispers.

Oh yeah. The clowns. Buggy the clown pirate, along with Alvida was here to kill Luffy. They would set up a trap in the main square, even going as far as having their entire crew mixed into the crowd to subdue him, only to find the Luffy placing himself right on the execution block for them.

Finch suddenly had the irrational and ridiculous urge just to poke his nose, just to see what he would do.

Then he wisely took a step back because he's not that stupid.

He pressed himself among the crowd, watching the pirates continue on their way.

He was surprised at the lack of panic.

The fact they _knew_ he was bad business hinted at something worse. They crowd didn't panic. They didn't screech or run off, or cause a stampede to get out of the vicinity of the pirates. They flinched when they came a little too close, but that was it. But, what was-

_They were used to it._

It wasn't a shocking revelation; not when he was still reeling he was in a fictional world. But the reactions of the crowd were too muted. Once again, Finch was reminded how this wasn't his world. Both worlds had crime, but over here, it was rampant and right in the open. Gold. D Rogers death had pirates come in through such numbers that the marines had no choice to deal with them first, an eternal stalemate where they fought against each other. The problem was so bad that they had to enlist the strongest pirates in order to boost their numbers, in the form of shichibukai.

In the story, each island had their own set of rules where either the marines or a mayor had a ruling authority. In the east blue, it was likely to be a person voted to be the mayor, as the pirates here were too weak to be considered a threat to their live hood. The only islands in this blue already had marine outposts were Arlongs faction and Luffy's first island. Smaller towns like orange town were effective held hostage by Buggy, and that was only because he knew how to be a pirate. He had a devil fruit, and had been crewmates with shanks, so he knew how to keep his head down and not rock the boat too much. Not strong enough and certainly not enough trouble for the marines to come down and set up a base, but enough to have an island at his beck and call. Nami's home town was worse, where the marines did jack all to help, since they were all under Arlongs payroll.

Par from smoker, the marines here were pretty much incompetent, stupid, or corrupted. Made sense too, since Marinefold was an ocean and a half away, and would take far too long to catch wind of any corruption and even longer to confirm it.

He couldn't fault Smoker for smaller incidents like these. Not really, considering how he was one of the few marines that actually did his job with competence.

…but then again, Smoker did abandon his post at a drop of a hat, just to chase after Luffy.

Okay, maybe not so much.

Finch decided to stop this thought train. Marines were assholes in this story. Get over it. Pirates good, Marines bad, don't brush your teeth then drink orange juice. Simple concepts. Don't overthink it.

He walked off, leaving the pirates behind.

He hopes he doesn't have to deal with anything like that anytime soon.

* * *

He _just_ had to think that, didn't he?

* * *

To be completely fair, kudos to Oda to making a great introduction to Smoker. It was a great scene in the story that highlighted his entire personality. Showing his resolution to the marines, showing that he truly _cared _about the people under his rule, and that he was the _one_ guy you didn't want to mess with.

But it also highlighted how public opinion of the marines were pretty much worth shit.

In reality, it could have gone better. Better for his heart, he meant. Having his heart stop so many times in a single day couldn't have been good for his health.

The crowd gasped as one.

It wasn't shock, or even disbelief that had filled the air.

Smoker placed a few coins in the girls trembling hand.

"Sorry about that. Seemed like my pants ate your ice-cream. Here," The coins jingled in the girls hand. "Buy yourself some more."

It was fear. Fear of him. Fear of what he represented.

He didn't seem to notice, already walking away.

Finch turned to look at the bystanders. They scurried away silently, giving small, cautionary glances at the duo as they went about their business.

Smoker had done nothing wrong, and they still feared him.

Right... Communist regime.

As well intentioned some marines acted, as a whole, they were literally_ designed_ to be the antagonists. Even with some good marines like smoker, there were still many more that went after power and influence. Even if the story didn't show it, but it easily hinted at a harsh world, with a harsher system to keep the peace. He couldn't even blame them. With powers that could bend people to your will such as haki, or devil fruits, giving power beyond compare, the world government _had_ to have some contingencies. Hell, with that logic, even a genocide button to wipe out an island seemed like nothing compared to what a single awakened devil fruit user could do. Shame that corruption was a still a thing in fantasy worlds. He was almost certain that there were more good marines than bad, as the world probably would have collapsed from civil war long before any of the story happened. But the problem was still bad enough to create the revolutionaries. The Strawhats probably only had the bad luck to meet with the ones that were shit because the plot called for it.

Right now, the only real power he had was knowing what would happen in the future. This world wasn't like his own. He _needed_ every advantage he could get. With the marines, he couldn't fully utilize his knowledge. Sticking with the Strawhats was still the better option.

He closed his eyes, calming his raging heartbeat.

He needed to compartmentalize.

What he needed now more than anything, was a clear goal.

That was easy enough. Follow the strawhats.

Good. A nice simple goal. Now how would he accomplish that?

The easiest solution? Sneak back onto the ship.

Nope. That wouldn't work. Sneaking back wouldn't work as they would kick him off again. To them, he was just a stranger. They had no obligations to help him more than they already had. He had to earn their trust.

Okay, sub goal. Earn their trust.

How the hell was he supposed to do that?

Once he had their trust, there was little they wouldn't do to keep one of their own safe. But just like everything in life, the problem laid within everything else. He only had a half a day to do so. And without any prior contact or outside help, how was he supposed to gain their trust? Once they left this island, they wouldn't return.

He turned to himself. What did he have at his disposal? His knowledge of future events, a collapsible staff, and a radioactive cherry that would probably give him cancer.

**And a plucky attitude.**

Ah, yes, and a plucky attitude. His greatest asset- wait.

He stared at the fruit in his hand. He's in the One piece universe. A fruit with swirls, looked as if it had been in Chernobyl, and was several shades the wrong color?

This was a devil fruit.

His eyes widened. This would give him powers beyond comprehension. Its weight seemed to triple in his hands, as he slowly realized the value of what he held. The ability to fly, complete control over the elements, anything from as simple as a rubber body, to turning into mythical creatures that only appeared in legends_._

Hell_,_ the fruits probably _were _the legends.

He wordlessly put it back in his pocket. Magic powers seemed like a good thing, but contrary to popular belief, magic did not magically solve all problems. He'll deal with the fruit later.

Right now, he needed a plan.

He slapped his face. Concentrate! What would happen? Strawhats would muck about, Luffy gets trapped but escapes, smoker kicks their asses, Dragon appears to save their asses, then they all haul ass to the grand line.

Good, but he needed more. More details.

Zoro gets his swords and meets Tashigi. They soon split apart, and Zoro went to the square to fight. Luffy goes to the square, makes a ruckus, and gets into a fight. Usopp and Sanji go get supplies, running from stall to stall, stocking up on food. Nami goes off on her own to get supplies and clothes.

Zoro was out, because he couldn't talk about anything pirate-y with Tashigi hanging around. Could he convince Luffy? No, that wouldn't work. He immediately gets found by Buggy, and they had to fight their way out. Usopp and Sanji seemed like a good idea at first, but Sanji still seemed to be in catatonic shock. Probably not the best idea. Nami seemed the best choice, until he remembered she was the one who listened to his suggestion to call a vote.

So yeah. This was his fault.

What happened next?

Luffy, Zoro, and Sanji fight their way out, and are intercepted by Smoker. They're outclassed, then Dragon shows up and bails them out. There wasn't any time to talk.

Alright, it seemed as though diplomacy was off the table.

Actions spoke louder than words.

What else could he do?

Fight?

Him, fight Smoker?

He congratulated his head for thinking outside the box. Then he told it to shut up and continue looking.

Wait… he paused in thought. But beating smoker wasn't the win condition, now was it? It was to gain their trust. So what if he didn't win? Even Luffy couldn't beat him. In the long run, it wouldn't matter. Just _trying_ to fight the marines would imply he wanted to help them, right? Hell, he didn't even have to much! Dragon would come over and save their asses.

But…

He faltered. What ifs swirl through his head. What if Luffy doesn't escape? What if Dragon doesn't appear? What if Smoker manages to arrest them?

He isn't an idiot. There was a chance this could fail. If he did, he would be arrested alongside the others. This may be a whole new world, but Finch had a pretty good hunch that assaulting authority figures was widely regarded as a bad thing.

**Then again, this was a communist regime…**

No. Bad Finch. No thoughts on toppling world governments.

His troubles increased twofold.

He shook his head.

No. He couldn't think like that. If everything in the story happen exactly as it did in the story, they would be able to escape. But what he needed was a guarantee. A just in case. Prepare for the worst, and hope for the best.

He needed the marines not to arrest him.

**Let's get this straight. In order to gain trust from the Strawhats, you need to beat up marines. But on the off chance that everything goes to shit, you need the marines to still trust you.**

Pretty much, yeah.

**Unless they're all secretly masochists, I don't think you can do both.**

Shit.

He cringed and desperately tried to think up a plan B. His jaw actually fell open when he came up with one. The pieces fall into place. As his plan slowly comes together, he shudders at what he has to do.

**Tell me then. What's your magnificent plan that'll convince the marines to not kick our teeth in, while convincing the others that we're on their side? Oh yeah, **_**at the same time.**_

Do spies carry incriminating evidence stating what allegiance they're on?

**We're not a spy.**

That's _perfect_. I've already convinced myself.

* * *

Smoker isn't an idiot. When he spots out the corner of his eye the kid that's following him, he doesn't immediately react. Instead, he continues his rounds through the town, pretending to not notice them. The guy's still following him. Who were they? A pirate? An assassin? With two rival pirate gangs in play, he has to assume the worse.

He quickens his pace.

They were obvious, sure. But what set off his suspicions was the fact they had no presence. He could see them and hear their footsteps, but nothing else. It didn't make sense. Unsettling, _yes_, but not the real problem. The only people who would even _attempt_ to tail a captain was either a moron, or dangerous. _Very_ dangerous.

But when they follow him into a dark side alley, he relaxes a little. This has to be this a idiot. This was screaming 'trap' in big bold letters, and yet they still followed him.

He pauses in the middle of the alley, tilting his head back.

"I know you're there."

Silence filled the air.

Smoker turned around, giving the trashcan behind him an unimpressed look.

"I'll give you to the count of three. One. Two-"

"Wait! Don't hit me, I'm here!"

He wasn't expecting this.

He looked over her- him. Androgynous, lean and gangly. Barely any muscle, and no visible weapons on him. Devil fruit user?

"You were following me."

"I was." The kid looked up. Then up. Then up again. "You're a very big man."

"I am." He grunted. "I also believe that it goes unsaid that trying to tail a marine captain is a punishable offense."

"Of course it is…" The kid muttered. "I don't suppose I could convince you that I was trying to get your autograph?"

The expression on his face was enough of an answer.

"Look, kid, I don't care what you want, but you're clearly out of your league here. I won't ask again. Who sent you, and why."

The kid swallowed thickly. "Noone did. I just wanted to talk to you."

He raised an eyebrow. "And you thought the best course of action to do so was to follow me behind my back."

He winced. "Alright, maybe not my best plan to date."

"And what exactly do you want?"

The kid takes a step back, and all of a sudden, he looks completely unfazed.

His grip tightened on his weapon.

"Let's do away with the pretences."

And all of a sudden, his posture changed. Before, he was slightly hunched, looking frail and nervous. Now, he stood with purpose. Every hand movement was a flourish. He radiated confidence. Any signs of unease was wiped away, replace with confidence. His eyes narrowed, as he turned to Smoker, a _tint_ of distaste on his brow.

"Captain Smoker of Logue town, I presume?" Hell, even his voiced changed. Now it was deeper, laced with authority. Every word he spoke was certain.

"And what of it?"

"Hmm. You've never let any pirate go before that's stepped into this town, correct?"

"Get to the point."

"Straight-laced. I like you. I've got a mission for you."

"And who would you be to give _me_ orders?"

He smiled. It held nothing.

"Cipher pol."

* * *

**Oh dear. **

**Sorry for the late update on this chapter! A family death puts a small damper on things, especially when you're not exactly of sound mind yourself. As usual, Finch decides to take the long way of doing things. May his endeavours fail, so we can watch him suffer for our amusement as he tries bullshitting his way out.**

**Follow or review. Or leave constructive criticism. Or don't. I can't force you. I'm just another face in the crowd.**

**Best of luck to everyone in the Covid situation! Stay safe!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6** \- Honesty is overrated. Copious amounts of bullshit is easier. And funnier.

* * *

For the first time in what seems like in a very long time, Smoker is speechless. His jaw slackens slightly, and he only closes it in time to catch his cigars.

"…excuse me?"

"You're excused. And close your mouth; you're going to catch flies."

And now this brat has his full attention again. He ground his teeth. **This**. This is why he hated dealing with superiors. He had never dealt with Cipher Pol before, but heard the rumours. They were nothing more than black ops. Blackmail, bribery, assassination; the list went on. If the world government wanted something swept under the rug, they would sweep it under, set the rug on fire, then throw the remains in a volcano for good measure. Extreme, brutal, and efficient.

There were called many names, none of which were very polite. He preferred to use complete and utter bastards.

"-my associates are given tasks to protect and maintain the peace between non-hostiles,"

They even referred to civilians as non-hostiles. He tried not to bloody his palm with his nails.

"Cut the crap. Who are you, and what do you really want from me. "

The brat paused. "…You don't believe that I'm Cipher pol?"

"No, I don't. I could clearly see you stalking me from half a mile away."

"Yes, and now we're isolated, safe from prying eyes, and you're talking to me. Oh _my_. I've _definitely_ failed."

He went silent.

"Let me begin again. I am Cipher Pol Negative, and no, before you ask any more of your insipid questions, you wouldn't have heard of us. We're relatively new. Normal Cipher pol units are deployed to take care of threats outside of the world government. Pieces that have grown too large to fit on the board, or have grown to be a consistent thorn in our sides. I am a negative."

"What's the difference?"

The brat frowned. "Usually, information like this is shared on a need to know basis. However, against my judgement, my superior informed me you're more willing to work with us if we explain our goals."

He sighed, running his hand through his hair. It was oddly human of him. "CP-N are a class specifically designed to remove threats from _within_ the ranks of the world government and marines. We are also used as a method to combat corruption, scandals, and other…_ items_ of interest. But as of now, we're currently investigating the revolutionary army."

He smirked.

"So congratulations, Smoker. You are now under my jurisdiction. You were assigned this post because of your tenacity and dedication to the marines. Cipher pol units have the jurisdiction to reassign units up to commanders to do their bidding. You have a new mission. Assist the straw hats in escaping-"

"What?"

"I apologize. Let me be clearer. Your new mission is to help_ me_ assist the Strawhats in escaping. My superior believes the captain will grow to cause massive waves in the future. They left me to infiltrate them as a crewmate to as a means to-"

"Then why not capture them now?" He interrupted.

The brat glared at him. "The captain has friends in high places-"

"He has connections in the marines?!"

"Not marines."

His face darkened. "A novice like him knows people in the revolutionary army?"

"Shut up and listen to me. I have very little time left, so I'll shorten it. Luffy is the small fry. What we're really aiming for is a way into the revolutionaries. A war with them is the last thing we want, so we need to take them out from the inside."

"And what exactly do you need me to do?"

"Pretend to fight us, and let us go. Make it look convincing. Assist as needed. You are to serve as backup if anything goes wrong from now on. For now, just clean up this mess, and wait for more instructions. Any questions?"

"Why me?"

"Because you are, _if not_, the _best _marine in the east blue. It also helps that no pirate that has crossed this town has left a free man. We know a lot about you, Smoker."

He snorted. "You could have just read my reports."

"You mean Petty Officer Tashigi's reports?"

Smoker froze.

"Petty officer Tashigi," he mocked, "a klutz with good intentions that also happens to be a sword-nut. Earnest, hardworking, and has a good head on her shoulders. You think we could read that in a report?"

The brat turned back to him with a wry grin. "And you should really stop making her do your paperwork."

"My superior has been watching you for quite some time. You were here when you saw the death of Rogers. You saw the smile on his face as he died. You've seen the marines rise up to fight off the waves of pirates. They were once defenders of justice, and proud peace bringers. My superior isn't blind to how warped the marines and world government have become. This isn't freedom. This is fear. You've seen how the public sees you. This is why the negatives are here. We're here to right the wrongs of the past. We do the work now. The dirty work. The hard work. We make a future where this never happens again. We know you'd be interested in that."

Smoker tried his last card. "I can't help you. I've already got two pirate gangs wreaking havoc on this island. We don't know what they're planning, and all my men are preparing-"

"The pirates captains of both crews are working in tandem in a plot to take out Strawhat Luffy." He waved it off, sounding nonchalantly bored about it all.

"I've spied on their crews and gathered the necessary information. Buggy and Alvida. One has the cut-cut fruit, and swords have no effect on him. Alvida has the slip-slip fruit. Blunt attacks slide right off her. I've seen your armoury. Use nets. Buggy has a flare for dramatics, so they're going to make a show of it. They'll probably be in the execution square."

Smokers snail started ringing.

"You better take that. Seems urgent."

"Captain Smoker here, status repor-"

"_Captain! Captain Smoker! Do you hear me?"_

"I'm here Tashiji. What's happening?"

"_We've identified the pirate captains! We've got their wanted posters. The ringleaders are Buggy the clown and what seems to be another female pirate captain! It seems to be the club wielding Alvida, but she has some sort devil fruit! Debris seem to just slip right off her!"_

Smoker could _feel_ the smugness radiate off the brat.

"Where are you?"

"_We're stationed at the town square-"_

"I'm en route," he growled. "get the civilians out of there!"

"_They're- oh god. They're going to execute him! I'm sorry, I have to go!"_

The line cut off.

He's already running towards the square. By the time he remembers the kid, he turns back, only to find him gone.

Fuck.

* * *

To say the weather took a bad turn would be an understatement. The rain started off light, quickly turning heavy as fat droplets fell from the sky. The clouds had darkened so quickly that the fine weather before now seemed like a lie. Flashes of lightning sparked in the distance, and the rumble of thunder echoed from the sea.

**Holy shit.**

_Holy shit indeed._

**That was some first-class gourmet bullshit right there.**

_The best lies always have a kernel of truth in them. But if you can't lie well, bury the lie in more lies, so that when they go digging, they won't find the truth._

He cursed as he nearly slipped on the wet ground, cutting his palm on a discarded piece of wood. He winced, and tried to wipe it on sleeve, only for the wet fabric to smear more blood on his hand.

He'll bandage it later.

**If there **_**is **_**a later.****We're right by where Smoker's supposed to fight them. So now what? We just wait for them to pass by?**

_Now this._

He took out the Devil fruit.

_Even if we don't have to beat Smoker, we need him to believe we can. The only reason why he even has a smidgeon of belief that we're a Cipher Pol agent is because he hasn't stopped to think about it. We need every advantage we can get._

CRACK-BOOM!

The sky split apart, white fury piercing the land below. He smelt ozone, as his ears started ringing and hairs on his arm stood on end.

Poor Buggy.

That should when Luffy escapes the jaws of death. Zoro, Sanji and Luffy would get caught up in the fight with the other pirates, then the marines would come in to capture them all in one fell swoop. Once they did, they would flee. There was only a little bit of time left.

Once he did this, there was no going back.

Hooo, boy.

* * *

Finch's mouth closed around the fruit. As soon the pact was made, the skin around his face tightened. His expression turned to stone as his hands started flexing, almost as if he could physically grasp the taste. His expression then turned to fragile plastic, as he opened his eyelids. His pupils had shrunken to pinpricks, as if he was staring at the light at the end of the tunnel.

He probably was.

He pulled the stem free. His jaw finally shifted to chew, but recoiled. He could feel his teeth shifting in his gums. The mass in his mouth could be charitably described as sludge. Was it crunchy? Slimy? Watery? He couldn't tell. Not anymore. His taste buds had long perished.

It felt like he was eating shards of glass. Come to think of it, he would prefer that rather than whatever the hell was in his mouth. At least glass didn't have the audacity to disguise itself as fruit. His gums were set aflame as the particles of that thing (as he would never tarnish food by calling this as such), entered through the smallest cuts, and into his bloodstream.

Somewhere along the line, his brain had stopped functioning properly, reduced to only being able to distinguish what feelings he could experience. It was mostly regret, along with whatever the hell the thing was doing to his mouth.

To his increasing horror, the further his teeth went, the more layers he found. And at the centre of it all, he found nothing but pain. He slammed his eyes shut, as if he could physically shy away from it. Slithering down one's throat was an expression often used to exaggerate, but this time, he felt nothing else could aptly describe it better than that. It felt like a greasy, fat-soaked, pus-squirting arm had been coated in diseases, then shoved down his throat. The toxins that had entered his blood stream finally made its way back to his head, finally kickstarting his brain again.

He dry-heaved on the rain-soaked ground.

_This had better been worth it._

Even with the lingering taste of _that thing_ in his mouth, he couldn't stop his grin spread across his face.

He had powers. Real-life superpowers.

**Sorry to burst your bubble, but what exactly are your powers?**

…_..shit._

* * *

"Tashigi!"

"Yes sir!"

He recounted his encounter, leaving out the last part for her sake of mind.

"Do you believe what he said? About letting Strawhat Luffy go? Sir, I know we've skirted around the missions that the higher ups have given us, but this is a direct order! From Cipher Pol no less!"

His expression hardened. "I don't trust him. I don't believe he's Cipher Pol."

She paled. "Then what should we do? Do we arrest him or not?"

"We'll deal with this problem first. He'll show himself to us again. Right now, focus on the situation here. We'll deal with him later."

To his annoyance, the brat is right. The pirates in the square _are_ small fry, and the only ones that do are Buggy and Alvida. They're both devil fruit users, and a seastone embedded net is more than enough to take them down.

And when later does come around, he's not impressed.

Roronoa Zoro wasn't here, but that was expected. He's a bounty hunter. He would flee at the first sign of danger. Instead, he faces off the captain and another pirate in a suit. For someone that was supposedly in the interest of the revolutionary army, faux Cipher Pol agents and world government, the captain certainly didn't put up a good fight.

His tenacity is something to admire, he'll give him that.

Smoker's cautious. Usually, he would end fights as quickly as possible minimizing the risk of others getting caught in the heat of battle, but he still doesn't know why people are interested in this rookie. He needs as much information he can get.

But as the fight continues, nothing comes up. The brat's plucky, determined and foolhardy. He's throwing himself at him, and even if the captain can't touch him, he's still determined to land a hit.

Still, there was nothing that would warrant this much attention.

This went on long enough.

He feinted left, and sent a pillar of smoke at his chest. The captain ducked, but Smoker had already flown across the smoke. He _twisted_, and now the captain was on the floor.

He sighed, taking out a pair of seastone cuffs. The fake CP agent didn't even show up. Of course he didn't. They'll have to chase him down later. For now, he'll just settle with this outcome.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a shadow.

_Wham!_

Suddenly, something _slammed_ into his head.

He was knocked backwards, and while he was dazed and confused, the pirate captain managed to roll away.

Smoker turned to glare at the perpetrator.

* * *

"Hey, short time no see!"

"Hey Finch!" Luffy smiled back. "But wait, how did you get the jump on him?"

Finch smirked. "No one ever looks up. Especially when it's raining."

"Then did you have to show off?" Sanji questioned.

"Kind of, yeah."

Sanji raised his eyebrow.

"It showed that he isn't invulnerable. He has to think about using his powers. Catch him off guard, or throw enough attacks so that he can't dodge them all."

"And the hell are you doing here? I thought you left!"

"Well, consider this me paying back my debt. You rescued me, and now I'm here to rescue you."

"Nice sentiment and all, but can you even beat this guy?" Sanji snarked, "We literally can't touch him!"

Finch turned, a wry grin on his face. "That's because you're trying to hit him while he's in smoke form. He has to regain solidity when hitting you. Go for his hands and legs."

"Right. Hands and legs. Got it." Luffy muttered.

Sanji and Luffy blurred past him, already engaging him in combat. Finch ran after them.

_No going back now._

It was amazing how the two fought. Sanji had taken his advice, and had started running circles around Smoker. Instead in engaging in an all-out brawl with the man, he sent his legs _smashing_ into him, dancing and weaving his way through his grasps. While it didn't seem to do anything, it was enough to keep his attention. On the other side, Luffy threw his fists into Smoker every time Sanji extended himself too far, trying to whittle him down.

It was working! It was actually workin- _oh no_.

Smoker took out his jitte.

_Shit._ He knew he had forgotten something.

Smoker turned back into smoke, and _swung_, cleaving the area in front of him. Sanji reacted too late, and was thrown backwards. Now without any distractions, he turned his attention to Luffy. This early in the story, there was no way he was going to win against a logia user. Luffy was sent flying.

Smoker finally turned to Finch. He growled, swirling smoke around his torso as he lunged at him.

Finch backpedalled.

_Shit._

To someone who lived in the city, one might believe that steam and fog were the same thing. They're both water vapor that makes it difficult to see. From a distance, they are. But anyone who's stepped in them could tell you that they're more like cousins twice removed. A foggy road just makes it hard to see, but steam soaks you to your bone. They're relatively harmless.

But smoke? Smoke is much worse.

Unlike the other two, smoke only comes from burning something. Devil fruit powers may bend and tweak the laws of nature a little, but some things won't change.

It smells rancid and unlike the other two, it forces down your throat, beats up your sinuses, and wreaks havoc on your lungs. You're forced to cough, a futile attempt to expel some from your lungs, but as long as you stay in it, it's hopeless. Each breath takes in more than you can expel, and soon enough, you can't even breath properly anymore. A little more; you won't have to.

When he tries to swing his fist through the smoke, he knows its hopeless. It would flit around his hand, then curl right back up. Or; that's what should have happened. When he swings, he manages to hit something, where a meaty _thwack_! resonates in the air.

The smoke condenses, and Smoker steps back out, surprise written all over his face.

* * *

Haki. Shit. This brat had haki.

Clumsy, but he had definitely managed to touch him. No real haki user would be in the weakest blue. He was an actual Cipher Pol agent. That changes things.

"Haki? You can use Haki?"

The brat froze.

He twisted something in his hand, and out of nowhere, a staff appeared.

"FORE!"

"…."

It went through him.

"Oh, you've got to be shittin me- _urk!_"

Smokers fist buried itself in his stomach.

Goddamnit. Now he would have fake losing concentration, just to let one of the others get a good shot at him. Pretend to go down, and let them escape-

"_I think not."_

Three words. Three simple words. But the pressure, the force, the complete and utter power behind those words; they were enough to make the world stop in motion.

**Monkey D. Dragon.**

The most wanted man. The number one enemy of the world government. The leader of the revolutionary army. He was here.

He came in person for a captain of merely 30 million beri?

There's no doubt about it now. This pirate captain and Cipher Pol agent were the real deal.

_FWHOOMP!_

A squall broke out, scattering his reinforcements. Most of the marines were blown away, the others were too scattered to do anything. The captain threw the agent over his shoulder, and ran off.

"Why? Why did you help them escape?"

Dragon smiles. It seems foreign on a face that's known across the world.

"What reason do you have for preventing a man from setting sail?"

* * *

"What was that?! You saved our asses back then! You and that other guy!"

"Well, I owed you a debt. Consider this a way of me paying you back."

Once they made their way back onto Merry, the questions started flying. Or to be accurate, out of all the questions that came, only one mattered.

"Hey, you wanna join my crew?"

Finch looked at Luffy. "I... I do, but what about their opinions?"

"You've certainly proved yourself to be trustworthy. You didn't have to help us, and you still did. I don't see a reason not to agree." Sanji said. He took another glance at him. "I'll get over your looks, sooner or later."

Usopp smiled. "I was always for it! The more, the merrier!"

Zoro stared at Finch. For a moment he said nothing, then shrugged. "I don't mind."

Everyone turned to Nami.

She sighed. "Oh, why the hell not." She gave small smile. "You better pull your weight around here, rookie."

Sanji clapped his hands. "Well then, this calls for a celebration!"

Nami turned to him. "He's right. You see that lighthouse over there? People call it the light of guidance. The entrance to the grand line is just beyond that." She smirked. "The first leg of our journey is nearly done. Our dreams are closer than ever!"

_BAM!_

Sanji slammed his leg onto a barrel. "To find the All blue."

Luffy followed him. "To become the Pirate King!"

"To be greatest swordsman!"

"To draw a map of the world!"

"To become a brave warrior of the sea!"

They turned to look at Finch.

Well shit. What did he want to do?

He bit his lip.

"I've lost my memories. I don't know what to do. I don't know if anyone knows who I am. I don't even know if anyone cares that I'm gone."

He took a deep breath. "But I do know this. There's only one thing that I can do."

He slammed his leg down. "I can make more. More memories. If I have to be a pirate, so be it. I'll be the best damn pirate you'll ever see!"

They laughed.

"No, that'll be me! I'm going to be the pirate king!"

"And I won't stop you, Luffy. Following the future pirate king on adventures?" He chuckled. "I think that'll make for some fine memories." He shook his head. "Hell. That'll make a great story."

He raised his mug.

"Let me introduce myself again. I'm Finch. Alexander Faye Finch. It's a pleasure to meet you all. What's mine is yours, and hopefully a portion of what's yours is mine. I'll be in your care."

They looked at each other.

Uh oh. Too much?

"To a new crewmate! To Finch!"

"To the strawhat pirates!"

"Hear hear!"

Usopp went to slap his back, then reeled in shock.

"Behind you! Can't you feel that? Your back is-"

Finch looked at him. "What are you talking about- _whatthehell!?_"

He turned to look, only to find motes of red smoke drifting in the air.

* * *

"You let them go sir."

"I _know_ that." He ground out.

"So he wasn't lying, after all. Cipher Pol really did send an agent to investigate revolutionary contacts."

Smoker growled. He was going to regret this. "Pack your bags Petty Officer. We have pirates to follow."

"What do I tell our superiors? We can't reveal that Cipher Pol gave us orders-"

"Then tell them what we have always told them," He muttered, grinding the cigars beneath his heel. "We tell them to fuck off."

* * *

**Once again, this has been beta'd by FireLark. Review and comment please! They remind small authors like us that people want to keep reading! They are the fuel for me to keep writing!**


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